


may water fall over your curves (let me taste the drops on your skin)

by withkissesfour



Category: Janet King (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bathtub Scene Speculation Fic YO, F/F, Smut, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 10:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10919955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withkissesfour/pseuds/withkissesfour
Summary: Now her bad day hangs limp from her messy hair. It twists itself around her tired, naked muscles, looms large in the silence of the house (too big, too quiet); and she flings a leg over the side of the tub, steam rising from her skin.Speculative fic of The Bathtub Scene, prompted by anon on tumblr.





	may water fall over your curves (let me taste the drops on your skin)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from tumblr about The Bathtub Scene that hasn't even aired yet, but has literally changed my life. Anon asked "perhaps you can write a fic based on all your tags of the Bath Tub Scene? Before, during, and after? :D" 
> 
> Thanks to matildaswan for the title and general loveliness <3

She misses the chaos of Wednesday afternoons.

She misses the clatter of keys, of dishes, of shoes - racing up and down corridors, up and down stairs. She misses the battle of bedtime, the soft, low, terrible singing as the twins are tucked in. She misses the crackle of Janet’s laughter, and the way she would smile against the furrow of her brow, against her downturned mouth (neck, shoulder, hip, stomach, thigh) tell her to  _cheer up, chuckles._

But they’ve been gone a while, will be gone a while longer, and the steady _drip, drip, drip_ from the tap above her foot (the low dribble of noise from the television in the bedroom) are the only sounds in the house.

She wants to call her. She wants to hear her voice, tell her about her horrible, terrible, no good day, ask her about hers. But there’s an edge to her tongue and a fraying at the ends of her nerves, jolted by four (five) ( _six_ ) coffees; and she knows she’ll ruin it, the lightness about Janet. There’s a tropical island brightness to her tone, cutting through the crunch of the shoddy phone line, that she hasn’t ever heard before - an ease, a  _happiness_ , and she doesn’t want to break it.

She doesn’t want to feel like this – pulled apart and restless; lonely – she doesn’t want to be that person. She wants to revel in her own company, like she used to; in the soft thrill of being alone, of coming home to an empty house. She never thought she’d long for the anarchy of domestics, of _what’s for dinner - pick up some milk - come back to bed -  i love you -  i love you -  i love you –_

Now her bad day hangs limp from her messy hair. It twists itself around her tired, naked muscles, looms large in the silence of the house (too big, too quiet); and she flings a leg over the side of the tub, steam rising from her skin. She lets her hair (falling loose from her ponytail) float along the surface of the water, tries to settle the spin of her head, the ache of her bones with deep breathes, with her fingers wandering the length of her body.

 They explore, explore again, all the places she knows well, all the places Janet’s touched – her breast, her stomach, the expanse of her hips (the tattoo painted there) – a ramble to the apex of her thighs, and she lets herself think about the way they would make love. The slow and careful and clumsy and quick and messy and rough and joyful way they would fuck.

She squeezes her eyes shut, lets gasps come untangled from her tongue, sharp breaths, low moans (quicker now) trying to fill the spaces where Janet had been; until she’s trembling, tears threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes, lip between her teeth to stop her from crying out, from habit. She pushes herself under the water, instead, plunges her whole body, her messy hair, her traitorous mouth beneath the surface. She squeezes her eyes shut, holds the sides of the tub with her fingers, puckered from the water, lets the swell of the bathwater, the pressure against her face fill her ears, until she feels like she might drown in the sound.

 -

 

 

‘ _God,_ I missed you’, Janet says, rounding the corner into the bathroom, dragged by Bianca. She untangles their hands to dip her fingers in the water, eyes the oils on the table, the flickering candle, the smile that has split across her partner’s face, wide, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. She turns to face her, comes close, closer, until Bianca can find the freckles, light, smattered across her nose now, ‘If I didn’t know any better I’d say you missed me too?’

 ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about. I do this for all the girls’, she mumbles, bright tone muffled by the material of her shirt as Janet pulls it over her head, reaching around then to find the hooks of her bra. ‘Done this before?’

 Her fingers are deft, tender, practised, and she grins up at Bianca as she slides the straps down her arms, drops it on the floor, moves her hands to her jeans – tongue through her teeth. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’

 They undress each other slowly, a little carefully, like they haven’t done it before – haven’t done it a thousand times, this slow dance. They’re a little new to each other again, after so long apart. They try to cover their blushes with laughter, cover their nerves with conversation; all fumbled hands and tripping tongues as they help each other into the tub.

 She watches Janet let out a breathy sigh, let her shoulders slump a little, her eyes flutter shut, her mouth grow wide in a yawn, and realises it’s the first moment they’ve had alone since they got back. The day had been a whirlwind of airport madness, peak hour traffic, wrangling luggage and children and presents, wrapped haphazardly and thrust affectionately in her direction as she lowered the poster from above her head, _welcome back!_ scrawled across it.

 Now she moves, so her feet are between Janet’s feet, her knees knock against her knees.

 ‘We could call in sick tomorrow.’

 ‘On our first day?’ she replies, without opening her eyes. ‘You’re a braver woman than I am, Grieve.’

 ‘It’s just – you must be wrecked’, Janet waves her hand at that, and Bianca clears her throat, shuffles forward a little. ‘And I’ve _barely_ seen you.’

 Janet half-opens her eyes then, watches Bianca bite at her lip, through her lashes, before her smile grows wide and she straightens her back.

 ‘I knew it.’

 ‘What?’

 ‘You missed me’, she teases, head cocked, and Bianca beams, pulls Janet close – her arms brushing against her sides as her fingers walk the distance between her shoulder blades. Janet brings her knee up Bianca’s breast, flings her arms around her shoulders, a brilliant smirk across her happy mouth.  

 ‘I didn’t say that’, she grins, and Janet brings her hand around to the side of her neck, fingers splayed beneath her ear, thumb pressed against her lips, split wide in a smile.

 ‘You _missed_ me’, Janet repeats, eyes bright, the bridge of her nose wrinkling as she presses it against her cheek, mouth close to her mouth.

 ‘You missed me – you missed me - ’ she sings, until she’s stoppered, caught in a kiss, taking her thumb away from Bianca’s lips to move against her properly. She pulls her close, closer still, legs hooked around her hips, tongue against her teeth, lips still wide in a grin.

 -

 

She’s bath warm, and tired – legs a little heavy, shoulders relaxed, mouth kiss-swollen  - and she flops down on the middle of the bed, towel tucked loosely around her frame. She cranes her neck to watch Janet come into the room, fumbling her hair into a ponytail before crawling onto the mattress, dipping a little under her weight, to lie next to her.

 ‘I’m really glad you’re back’, Bianca chokes out, face turned towards the roof, counting the spins of the ceiling fan so Janet might not notice the reddening of her face, her fidgeting hands, the way she blinks back tears. But she notices. Bianca can hear her swallow hard, feels her hand grasp her hand, watches her watch her from the corner of her eye.

 ‘I’m really glad I’m back.’

 They stay like that, for a moment, pretending not to look at each other, before Janet clears her throat, shuffles from her position. She longs for the warmth of her, searches her out before she feels the weight of Janet’s knees on either side of her hips, feels her fingers untucking the fold at the top of her towel. The cool air hits her warm skin and she tries to move a little, but Janet has her pinned in place. Bianca moves her arms up tries to undo the towel from Janet’s frame too, but Janet grips her hands, pins them above her, face very close to hers now, eyes bright – and Bianca can’t _breathe_ she wants her so much.

 'No', Bianca nods, leaves her hands above her head, gripping the pillow tight, as Janet moves patting her hips. ‘Up.’

 She obeys, lifting her torso so Janet can pull the towel from underneath her, then lets her body hit the mattress again. Damp blonde strands of Janet’s hair, which fall from her untidy ponytail, play against her skin, as her mouth moves against her, over her nipples, hard now, sensitive. She stops there, kisses the peak of one, of the other, before nipping at the underside of her breast. Bianca gasps, cants her hips.

 Janet presses them back down, hard, into the mattress - pins her there with her thumbs, and she thinks it might bruise. She thinks she might have bruises in a few places, thinks Janet might think about it at work tomorrow, thinks she might think about it.

 She makes a steady journey, down the length of her body, torturously slow over the dip of her sternum, the swell of her stomach, a light stripe of stretch marks across them.

 ‘I missed this’, she says, presses her nose against the jut of her hip bone, lets her fingers trace over the lines of her small tattoo, which ends around the side of her body. She moves her mouth lower, against her centre, and Bianca bites at her lip until she can taste blood, gathering every ounce of self-restraint she still has not to cry out and buck her hips when Janet presses a kiss to her clit, presses her nose there a moment. ‘I missed how wet you’d get for me.’

 She pulls away, then, moves forward (body flush against hers), to catch her in a deep kiss. Bianca whines against her mouth, her tongue, her teeth, for the loss of her, but it’s not a loss felt long. She replaces her mouth with her hand, against her clit for a moment before Bianca lets out a loud gasp – a cry – as Janet slides one finger (two fingers) inside of her. She stills for a moment, watches Bianca’s mouth drop open in an _o_ , her eyes grow wide, before she begins to move.

 It takes a minute for them to find their rhythm again, and their bodies move clumsily against each other before she pushes her hips up, against Janet’s hand, against the steady thrust of her fingers.

 ‘I missed fucking you’, she says, cocking her head and leaning forward as Bianca moans, tries to mumble, _more._  ‘Sorry?’

 ‘Harder, Janet – oh - ’

 She pauses, and Bianca cries out, tries to move her hips against Janet’s fingers again, but she keeps them still.

 ‘What?’

 ‘ _Please_ , Janet, _please_ more. Fuck me, _please._ ’

 She slides a third finger in then, without warning, and Bianca yelps as she starts thrusting again, rougher this time, harder this time. She doesn’t let up, fucking her in earnest now, her other hand moving upwards to palm at her breast, to trace the hill of it, to play with her nipple. It’s all Bianca can do not scream, as Janet watches her, mutters to her, lets sweet nothings, filthy everythings fill up the spaces between them, the silence that had hung there for months.

    ( _did you miss me – did you miss me inside of you?_ )

 It’s all Bianca can do just to fumble blindly at the sheets, turn her head against the pillow, tangle her leg around Janet’s legs.  Janet lets her fingers slow, and still, and speed up again, and slow, bringing her gently to the cusp of her orgasm, to the precipice, to the edge; and she can feel herself falling, can feel herself coming undone. Janet catches her eyes with her own, and Bianca matches her smile with a smile – a weak, joyful, thing, that stretches over her face, so happy she can’t bear it – before Janet bends down, teeth and tongue and expert fingers all at once, and it falls into a gasp, a quiet cry, a trembling laugh as her body shakes against Janet’s hand, against Janet’s mouth. 

She untangles her fingers, white knuckles, from the sheet and drags Janet down to meet her mouth, hands caught in her hair, pulling it from the last confines of the hair tie. It falls in a curtain around their faces as she kisses her, kisses her, kisses her breathless; as she moves her thigh between Janet’s thighs.

‘Not fair’, she says, playing with the fold at the top of her towel, before she untucks it, pulls it from Janet’s frame and hurls it across the room – landing in a heap near her own. She shuffles down, angles herself so every part of her body is against her body – before she starts to move, grinding against the wet heat between Janet's legs.

 They keep pace with each other, find their rhythm again and again until it was like she never left, until Janet’s mouth falls open, and Bianca’s hand moves down between their bodies to where her thigh meets her centre. She knows Janet, knows how sensitive she is, knows that it will pull her over the edge, when she when she lets her thumb whisper over her clit, once, twice – feels Janet begin to tremble; and it drives her towards her own orgasm – rutting against her now. Her fingers bite into her shoulder blades, and she feels Janet’s teeth against the crook of her neck, and they come together, come apart together, a perfect mess of limbs. 

 -

 

 

She watches Janet move around the room, watches the line of her naked body as she bends to pick up the mess they made. She hurls the towels into the laundry basket, frets a little, moves to throw a shirt on before Bianca whines, pats the mattress next to her.

 ‘Come back to bed, you silly thing’, she says, as Janet bites her lip, smiles, bounces back towards the bed. She rearranges her head on the pillow, grins at her, quite close, and hurls a leg over her waist.

‘Good luck explaining that at work tomorrow’, she says, moves her fingers over her jawline, her neck, the bruise that blossoms there – a fresh violet, mottled – and Bianca barks out a laugh, tells her she has an understanding boss. Janet shakes with laughter, belly soft and trembling, and hands continuing down her body, again, around her face – relearning her.

They’re painted with a few fresh reminders of each other, covered with gentle kisses, in amongst old battle scars, stretchmarks, papercuts, tattoos; and they tutor each other on their bodies again, low and quiet and close in the dull light of the street lamp, that illuminates her bedroom.

  


End file.
